


The Man in the Other Room

by Del (goddessdel)



Series: The Woman in the Golden Mask [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Del
Summary: "You can't possibly be jealous of yourself," River teases, smirking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written: 7/9/16-11/30/16
> 
> Thanks to Beverly for looking this over and unending encouragement with this series. Shout out to Becs for also looking it over - all remaining mistakes are my own!
> 
> This directly follows "The Woman with the Golden Mask", but you probably don't need to read that to get the gist of this.
> 
> This is probably just shameless PWP. /not sorry

"River."

 

She's hardly rounded the corner before strong hands catch her about her waist and slam her roughly against a wall just barely out of sight of the ballroom.

 

Her husband's gaze rakes across her, surely noting the flush to her complexion and how hastily her corset was tugged back up to maintain the faintest sense of modesty. He feigns nonchalance but she can see the tension in his body, hear the bite to his words. "I lost you in the crowd. Did you have fun?"

 

"You know I did."

 

"With him."

 

"With _you_ ," River corrects, letting her voice drop suggestively.

 

The Doctor swallows. "I remember," but his voice is still a low growl.

 

"You can't possibly be jealous of yourself," River teases, smirking.

 

The Doctor glances in the direction of the ballroom for an excuse not to meet her eyes, grumbling under his breath. His eyebrows are adorably cross. _Bless, he is jealous of himself, the ridiculous man._

 

There's no help for it. River reaches up to turn his head and snog him properly; her adorable, cross, jealous sweetie.

 

The Doctor growls again, low and possessive, hands tightening at her waist as he crowds her into the wall and kisses her like he's trying to reclaim her from himself. River shudders against his pointed tongue and sharp teeth, blood still racing with endorphins.

 

After an indulgent moment, River withdraws to catch her breath before she loses her head entirely. The Doctor avoids her eyes, ducking his head to press his lips over her pulse in a way that is terribly distracting. "And how did you occupy yourself, my love? Or did you just skulk about brooding?"

 

"I don't brood," he protests, straightening. "I'll have you know I said hello to an old friend."

 

Even if she didn't know who he meant and the story, the way his eyebrows furrow and the ancient shadows behind his eyes would tell her that by _hello_ he means _goodbye_.

 

He's still clinging to her, long Time Lord fingers digging into her corset, and River knows it has as much to do with his loss as his jealousy. He always clings to her for comfort, even when he doesn't know how to ask.

 

River traces her hand along his jaw, feeling some of his tension relax at her touch. He'll tell her about it when he's ready. "An old friend? Perhaps I should be the jealous one?"

 

The Doctor snorts. "Don't be daft," and snogs her again before she can tease him further.

 

This kiss is no less possessive than their last; more so, perhaps, full of a single-minded devotion that is breathtaking in its passion.

 

He is already bundling up her skirt, pannier and petticoat with brisk, impatient efficiency, one hand diving between her legs to press firm, knowing fingers against her clit. It's so different from how he'd touched her before - full of false bravado to hide any fumbling. There's twice as much bravado now but no fumbling - he knows just how to touch her.

 

It's completely unnecessary, of course. Her nerves are still shot through with pleasure, sensitive and aching. She reaches down to catch his wrist and say as much, "Sweetie, you don't have to-"

 

The look he gives her is fierce, his eyes dark with lust, and River lets her hand fall away from his wrist without another protest, her head falling back against the wall when his fingers slide lower, pressing against her sex, still swollen and sticky from another him.

 

He pauses. "Take off your mask."

 

River hurries to undo the golden mask, her fingers momentarily clumsy over the clasp. She lets it fall carelessly to the floor, already forgotten.

 

As soon as it's gone, the Doctor slides two possessive fingers inside her eager, quivering depths, still crowding her into the wall. His breathing is harsh against her ear as he curls his fingers to press hard against that perfect spot with every thrust. He starts a punishing rhythm, fingers stroking her in hard, quick thrusts, just the way they both know she likes it.

 

A shuddering moan escapes her lips, her body surging with a renewed need for him. " _Sweetie_ ," she begs again, though she'll deny it when she's in her right mind and her head is not spinning from two of him shagging her against walls right after each other.

 

The Doctor grunts something that might be acknowledgement and, when River manages to flutter open eyes that she doesn't remember closing, there's a viciously proud smirk on his face: _mine_.

 

He flicks his thumb over her clit and River comes hard, her orgasm all the more powerful for the two that have preceded it. She's left gasping and weak-kneed, overwhelmed with the sharp pleasure.

 

The Doctor wipes his hand roughly on her petticoat, kissing her again. His kiss steals her breath entirely. River gives into it, letting her head spin with him.

 

There's a rustle of fabric and the anachronistic sound of a zip being tugged down. River's hands are caught around his coat, crushing the velvet in her grip as the Doctor hitches her leg over his free arm and drives into her with one long thrust.

 

River moans, nibbling on his lip, and the Doctor makes a rough, desperate sound as he pounds her into the wall. He pries her left hand free from his coat to hold her own skirts up, sliding his arms under her legs to lift her. Fisting her free hand in his hair, River wraps her legs tightly around his waist, her back dragging across the wall as they move together. He's certainly determined tonight and, _oh_ , River can already feel her body melting into liquid pleasure with each powerful thrust.

 

When River digs her nails into the Doctor's scalp, he tears his lips from hers with a glare that promises delicious retribution. River wings an eyebrow as best she can when her body is already trembling and heaving around him and is rewarded when he ducks his head and bites down on the side of her neck, hard.

 

The sound that escapes her throat is almost certainly a scream as she gives into a renewed surge of ecstasy coursing through her. The Doctor gentles his teeth only slightly, nipping his way across her neck and chest with a ferocity that is definitely going to leave vivid marks. But River can't bring herself to care when he's still pounding into her with long, hard strokes that leave her quivering and throbbing and aching for him.

 

She's making far too much noise. The last thing they need is for his younger self to come running around the corner to investigate and find her up against the wall with a regeneration he hasn't lived yet.

 

The Doctor doesn't seem to care, driving into her relentlessly. Of course, he would know. "Do you have any idea what it was like? Waiting here, knowing exactly what you were doing? Remembering how I touched you and the sounds you made?"

 

Her response is an entirely embarrassing whimper, but he can hardly expect her to be coherent when he's using that low, growling voice in her ear and she hasn't even come down from her latest orgasm yet.

 

He rests his forehead against hers for a moment and, unlike his younger self, he knows better than to peek. River tilts her head up and catches his lips in a needy kiss, not entirely sure if she means it as an apology or encouragement or just to shut him up so that her mind can stop spinning for a moment.

 

The Doctor indulges her for a long moment, his kiss still every bit as possessive as the first, all teeth and tongue and trying to devour her. His body is strung taut against her, his neck tense under her hand. Despite the wall and her heavy gown limiting her range of motion, River arches into the Doctor as much as she dares when he hoists her higher, her legs locked around his bony thighs.

 

Making a strangled noise, the Doctor rolls his hips into hers and then stills, panting. "You haven't gone all weak in the knees on me, have you, dear?"

 

She's overheated in her gown from the exertion, sweat pooling under her petticoat, and she can see it beading along his brow. She can barely focus on his question, honestly. Not that River intends to be honest. She scoffs instead. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not some bloody maiden."

 

Almost before she's finished speaking, the Doctor has withdrawn and lowered her legs to the ground, spinning her around. River drops her skirts to catch herself against the ornate wallpaper and he holds her in place with his weight, pressing her into the wall.

 

The Doctor is already cursing her skirts and pannier as he tugs them up over her arse. He nudges her legs apart with his knee, his hard cock brushing her thigh before he slides back inside her with a ragged groan.

 

A keening noise escapes her throat, loud and wanton, as he resumes his rough pace. The Doctor's hand somehow works its way under her skirts to clench tightly around her hip and move her in counterpoint to his thrusts. Her corset has slipped down again, her exposed nipples rubbing across the luxurious wallpaper, sending little shocks of pleasure directly to her center every time the Doctor thrusts roughly forward. River turns her head to the side to rest her cheek against the wall, her palms pressed flat for leverage, and her legs still fluttery and weak. For all her protests, it's a good thing he has such a grip on her.

 

She edges down the wall just enough to give her leverage to rock back into the Doctor's thrusts as best she can with the corset and heavy fabrics of her gown restricting her movement. And restricting her breath, which comes in short pants as her head spins, her nerve endings overtaxed and positively singing with pleasure with every hit of contact.

 

With her skirts effectively trapped, bunched between them, the Doctor lifts his hand to brush her hair off her neck, his hot breath huffing out across her earlobe. "He's never going to know how to touch you, how to make you scream." His voice is a low, rough growl as he bites possessive kisses down the back of her neck. "Do you think they'll all come running, when you scream? Worried about a stray droid, only to find you getting rodgered into the wall."

 

River shudders, too far gone to remind him that he's always the _same_ man. It's not what he means anyhow and bless, it's delicious when he's jealous of himself.

 

Still draped over her, the Doctor somehow slides his hand under her dress from her hip to her clit, and her entire body shudders and ignites at his touch, whole galaxies exploding across her vision as another orgasm rocks through her. A scream tears its way from her throat, leaving it raw and her eyes stinging as she struggles to catch her breath.

 

Her toes are numb from where they've curled in her shoes and her lungs burn, constricted under her corset.

 

The Doctor follows her helplessly with a few more shaky, wild thrusts, his head buried in her neck and a guttural moan on his lips.

 

After a moment, while he catches his breath and her entire body thrums and tingles with aftershocks, the Doctor gently withdraws, letting her skirts drop to the floor and helping her turn around.

 

"Not weak in the knees now, are you, dear?" The Doctor rights her corset with a hopelessly smug little smirk, offering her his arm.

 

She's still a bit dazed, flushed with adrenaline and endorphins from her multiple orgasms. River leans as heavily into the Doctor as the width of her dress allows and glares. "Bastard." It comes out far too winded to be convincing.

 

He merely brushes back her sweaty, tangled curls and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead.

 

"Happy birthday, dear."


End file.
